Zhuk
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“Reigen, are you kidding me? Can’t you keep it in your pants for one minute! This is serious.” Ritsu, outraged, undoubtedly trying to murder Reigen with his eyes. It makes Sato laugh, delighted, and in front of him, Takashi positively grins.
“Sounds like this ain’t the first time, is it, Reigen? You got a thing for stuff like this? You wanna be held down? We can do that for you.”
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Bookmarked by Zhuk
04 Jul 2025
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Ладно бы ещё Микки Пирсон: сочетание южного акцента и аристократических манер, упакованных в дорогущий костюм, кого угодно свело бы с ума. Но почему Флетчера интересовал именно Рэймонд — этот зануда с налётом кембриджского высокомерия, — демонстрирующий либо тотальное безразличие, либо разрушительную злобу?
Bookmarked by Zhuk
26 Jun 2025
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The wind must have announced his presence, must have alerted her most loyal guardian, for he hasn’t even lifted his hand to knock when the door swings open and there he stands. Hands in pockets, hip slightly cocked, the waves of jet black hair closer to a more familiar length. But it’s the twinkle in those curving eyes that feels the most surreal, a gut punch into a past that feels a lifetime ago from now, on the porch of Dong-sik’s old family home.
“It’s been a while, Inspector Han.”
Joo-won fights a grimace, looks up. “I need your help.”
Bookmarked by Zhuk
27 Jan 2025
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Ivan does not fear death, until he does.
Bookmarked by Zhuk
27 Dec 2024
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“Where would we have gone, anyway?” Till is unable not to ask. The desert comes with a sky that’s all but fake; framed by the sharp corners of the vehicle is an endless sea of bright scarlet, scarred and stitched up by falling tears of gold and swirling nebulas. Till remembers running. In that hallucinating haze, he cannot phantom a good enough reason to dig his heels in and stop. “We pass that glitch in the gates to get out, and we run — and then what?”
Ivan hums. His clothes are a confusing bundle — the too-long pants from the Garden, the rain-soaked jacket from the stage. His fringe is scarlet wet, plastered against his forehead.
“Who knows,” he offers.
or: Till leaves Round 7 on his own feet. The rest is consequential.
Bookmarked by Zhuk
23 Dec 2024